Bryan Deakin

Scottish Poet / Blogger / Community Activist

Feast

The bricks show,
Through the empty room,
A chair unused,
As the light shines through,
The broken window pane.

Pipes on the wall,
The floor covered,
In pigeon excrement,
No life can be seen,
In this once useful room.

Decay on the walls,
As the plaster peels,
The wine rack stands empty,
Waiting for the bottles,
Left laying unclean.

The stench of decomposition,
From the far corner,
No bodies can be seen,
Just bones from the deceased,
As detrivores feast.

© 2015-2016

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